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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23685022">no good</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Szekeres_Szilveszter/pseuds/Szekeres_Szilveszter'>Szekeres_Szilveszter</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Night at the Museum (Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Arguing, Capoleon, Depressing, Established Relationship, Future, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Swearing, Toxicity, reference to suicide</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 16:42:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,524</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23685022</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Szekeres_Szilveszter/pseuds/Szekeres_Szilveszter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>napoleon is at his limit. he covers his face and begins to cry.</em>
</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Napoleon Bonaparte/Al Capone (Night at the Museum)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. don’t start this again</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>i read a tumblr post talking about natm &amp; its unsettling implications due to the fact that the exhibits cannot age, die, or do much of anything outside of the confinement of the museum. heavy stuff. why not elaborate on it with the (in my opinion) best dudes in the trilogy?</p><p>spot the bee movie reference if you can🐝</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>they don’t wear their traditional clothes anymore. a few exhibits do, but they’re hung up on the past, ostracizing themselves from the rest. al always scoffs at them. ‘decades, napoleon, decades!’ he’ll say. ‘and what do they have to show for it? <em> commemorations?</em>’ he makes a spectacle out of the traditional ones, a mockery of their stuck-in-the-past ways. if he’s feeling really pissed, he gets in their faces, even pushes them. it’s outright disrespectful.</p><p> </p><p>napoleon never interferes. he stands on the sidelines, defending no one. watching passively. because despite how much napoleon tries to ignore it and how much he tells himself it’s not true, al has changed.</p><p> </p><p>a man with the sparkling flame of adventure in his eyes will always be snuffed out by a boring existence.</p><p> </p><p>‘don’t be harsh,’ napoleon will tell him after he ridicules a group of traditional passerby, ‘they’re homesick.’</p><p> </p><p>‘home<em>sick</em>? i’m sick of ’em, is what!’</p><p> </p><p>(most of) the exhibits wear normal clothes now. al sports jeans and a t-shirt; napoleon is invariably the same, albeit a more vintage, old-timey style. why shouldn’t they? there’s no reason to wear their costumes. the museum of natural history isn’t the museum of natural history anymore. in fact, nobody’s too sure <em> what </em> it is, but it definitely has something to do with desks and offices and file cabinets and computers. it requires a lot of effort to stop attila the hun and his men from smashing everything with their brutish weapons.</p><p> </p><p>al talks about it all the time. even now, when he and napoleon are sitting together on a slouchy camelback couch in the waiting room that had once been the t-rex exhibit. napoleon is always hit with a pang of dejection whenever they’re in here - rexy was removed decades ago.</p><p> </p><p>but al doesn’t seem to dwell on that anymore. leaning back, legs crossed, an arm stretched around the couch’s backside, he rambles irrelevantly.</p><p> </p><p>‘those men are only doing what everyone wants to do. they’re just the only ones with the balls to do it.’ </p><p> </p><p>napoleon rests his head on his palm, tired. al seems to have an opinion on everything these days. what happened to the boyish inexperience that he used to cherish? where’d that go?</p><p> </p><p>‘everyone’s angry, al. violence will only lead to some kind of investigation that will perpetuate our discovery, and who knows what’ll happen then?’</p><p> </p><p>but al isn’t listening. he never listened, even in the first years of their relationship, when the museum was still a museum, but these days it’s as if napoleon isn’t present at all. he can’t help the way it gets under his skin.</p><p> </p><p>‘you know what? it’s all <em> his </em>fault,’ al incuplates.</p><p> </p><p>‘don’t start this again.’</p><p> </p><p>‘that sonofabitch left us, frenchie! he abandoned us, and for what? a cushy government job! a life free of the responsibilities he had!’</p><p>‘we don’t know that.’</p><p> </p><p>‘you’re right: it’s been decades. he’s probably dead.’ al grimaces disdainfully. ‘good riddance, if you ask me.’</p><p> </p><p>‘i did not ask you.’</p><p> </p><p>‘you didn’t need to.’</p><p> </p><p>napoleon winces. at least he was finally being acknowledged. </p><p> </p><p>‘al…’</p><p> </p><p>his eyes flicker over to napoleon, a mixture of both disgust and arrogance plastered all over that unaging, handsome face of his. ‘what’s wrong with you? i’m <em> right</em>.’</p><p> </p><p>‘come on, i’m over this. i like pleasant things. i like to feel happy - i don’t like… whatever you’re going on about. there’s enough gloominess as is,’ he reasons. ‘remember what you said? that you’d never be like them?’</p><p> </p><p>al sighs. all he needs is a quick shove into reality and he throws away his depressive rambling and existentialist moodiness for the sunlight that napoleon provides. he doesn’t know what he’d do without the little guy.</p><p> </p><p>in turn, napoleon hates the fact that he has to deal with all of al’s unhappiness, only to exert his energy in order to make him feel better again. it’s exhausting. it’s been getting harder and harder to make him remember the promise he had made when everything first started going south. oh, they were so in love then… </p><p> </p><p>‘i know, i’m sorry.’ al rubs his face tiredly, raking his fingers over gray flesh like he was attempting to stretch play-doh. ‘it’s just so goddamn depressing.’</p><p> </p><p>‘it is.’</p><p> </p><p>for a while, they don’t say anything. they just sit and stare. napoleon can tell al is contemplating things, juggling his thoughts and feelings and such, but napoleon himself has a brain full of a whole lot of nothing. he just sits and stares, a vacant zombie.</p><p> </p><p>how the tables have turned, he thinks resentfully. <em> i </em> was the thinker, al was the dumb one. he’s been changed into this <em> other man</em>. now it’s as if i barely know him.</p><p> </p><p>that’s not true. he lets out a long sigh. he knows that al is just the same as he was before, only different. but still the same dummy that he loves.</p><p> </p><p>‘i’m afraid.’</p><p> </p><p>‘yeah, me too.’</p><p> </p><p>‘this isn’t good. none of it. we shouldn’t have to live like this…’</p><p> </p><p>‘suicide pact?’</p><p> </p><p>napoleon is stern. ‘don’t joke about that.’</p><p> </p><p>‘sorry, sorry, just trying to lighten the mood…’</p><p> </p><p>he fixes al with a stone cold, centralized gaze. ‘you scare me sometimes,’ he says, his voice forlorn.</p><p> </p><p>‘how is it that you stay so… motivated?’ again with the ignoring. ‘everybody’s lost their screws, and here you are, desperately trying to keep all of your friends in one piece, keep <em> me </em>in one piece.’ </p><p> </p><p>what friends? where have my friends gone, al? the sweeper of a janitor’s broom? inside a garbageman’s trash bag? where’d they go, al? tell me - where?</p><p> </p><p>‘i have you,’ he says simply, sweetly. ‘i think you’re worth it.’ the shimmer in his eyes and smile on his lips are purposeful; napoleon means it with all his heart.</p><p> </p><p>‘tell me, what’d i do to deserve you?’</p><p> </p><p>‘besides being born with such a handsome face? ah, let me see…’</p><p> </p><p>al laughs, but he suddenly grows serious. ‘you know, sometimes i don’t think you’re joking.’</p><p> </p><p>napoleon looks at him sharply. ‘don’t start this…’ he murmurs, annoyed that his teasing was not met with the proper response. </p><p> </p><p>‘it’s all fucking with you. you want me on my knees, you want me to ride you, you want me to fuck you from behind, you want me to take you without making a sound, you want me tied up while you mount my face.’ </p><p> </p><p>‘y-you…’</p><p> </p><p>‘oh, i know what gets to you. i know what you hate. why, i could describe last night to you if you want! when you climbed on top and stuck your fingers in my mouth? when you thrust them down my throat ‘til i gagged? oh, how can i forget when you smiled and laughed when i began choking! or how about when you fingered me to insanity? when you -’</p><p> </p><p>‘you wanted me to do that! don’t act like i’m the only one who -’</p><p> </p><p>‘oh, what were you going on about last night? do you remember what you were moaning into my ear?’ he sneers. ‘“oh, al!”’ he says, imitating a breathy french accent, accentuating the words with long endings and little trembles. <em> ‘“j’ai b-besoin de t-t-toi en moi, merci! je te v-v-v-veux en moi!”’</em></p><p> </p><p>napoleon is deeply hurt. his face is on fire, bitten with embarrassment and shame. he jumps to his feet, not wanting to be anywhere near this hypocrite, and faces him. ‘al, stop it!’</p><p> </p><p>‘why the hell should i? nobody can hear us, frenchie! i’m just <em> talking </em> to you. what is it? am i making you uncomfortable? are you embarrassed? do you not like it when i talk about’ - he pauses for a dramatically contemptuous effect - <em> ‘sex?’ </em></p><p> </p><p>‘no, i’m not, it’s…’ he looks away. he hates how al can maintain such an undisturbed, unaffected position when they argue; he never used to be able to do that. ‘there is no getting through to you, is there? once you get going…’</p><p> </p><p>‘you’re such a <em> cretino</em>.’</p><p> </p><p>he is tired, so tired of this conversation. ‘please, do not go throwing names.’</p><p> </p><p>‘why? it’s what you are. i can think of some others off the top of my head, actually: bitchy, screwy, half-assed, sex-crazed, <em>deficiente</em>, moody, annoying, clingy -’</p><p> </p><p>napoleon is at his limit. he covers his face and begins to cry.</p><p> </p><p>al’s hardened expression softens like an ice cream cone dripping its contents in the fierce sunlight. the meanness in al’s soul dies, his sympathy resurfacing. his eyes are glazed and glistening now, feeling as if he himself might tear up. still sitting, he takes napoleon’s hand in his own and pulls him back down so al can envelop him in his arms. napoleon rests his head in the crook of al’s neck. </p><p> </p><p>‘i’m sorry, i’m sorry…’</p><p> </p><p>you say that too many times for comfort.</p><p> </p><p>‘i know,’ napoleon sniffles, face still buried in his chest. ‘we shouldn’t fight…’</p><p> </p><p>‘remember how we used to fight? ah, those were the days.’</p><p> </p><p>‘you were so gentle, even when you were raging mad.’ and now the slightest inconvenience turns you into a monster. ‘you had such creative insults. i was impressed.’</p><p> </p><p>‘yeah. i guess those went away with the museum, huh? now all i got are the basics.’</p><p> </p><p>‘yeah.’</p><p> </p><p>napoleon removes himself from al and they look at each other.</p><p> </p><p>‘even after all this time, our height differences still crack me up.’</p><p> </p><p>‘i guess that goes to show that you’ll always be my little frenchie,’ he says, cupping one of napoleon’s rosy cheeks with his hand.</p><p> </p><p>‘and you my all-american boy.’</p><p> </p><p>al leans down and plants a kiss on napoleon’s lips. when they pull apart, he smiles thinly.</p><p> </p><p>‘i think this will work out. we can make it work. if i can get my shit together, then we’re golden.’</p><p> </p><p>internally, napoleon rolls his eyes. thanks for the heartfelt apology, al. insulting me and making me cry? water under the bridge, no problem!</p><p> </p><p>‘i love you.’</p><p> </p><p>‘love you too.’</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. crust punk king</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>
  <em>‘but that is the american dream, is it not? to come from nothing and become something? that is what you ended up doing, no?’</em>
</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thanks to @yotka for the idea,,, he’s super cool! this is based off of the song “crust punk queen” by tor miller.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>‘y’know what i miss the most?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>napoleon turned over on his side to face al. the gray man had a contemplative look on his face, as if the act of thinking was both troublesome and foreign to him, but that wouldn’t stop him from indulging it nonetheless. the light from the museum cast a yellowish glow onto the grass lawn and onto the hammock that they were snuggled inside of, cuddling each other.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘mm?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>al’s eyes were fixed up on the night sky. the smooth gray t-shirt that he wore did nothing to accentuate his muscles but he looked incredibly cozy inside of it. absently fiddling with the fabric of his own shirt, napoleon awaited al’s response. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘the woods. washington, d.c. ain’t got any good forests close by. not close enough to make it there ‘n back before sunrise, at least. it’s a bummer.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>napoleon smiled.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘did you not grow up in the city?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘well, yeah, but i dunno,’ he dully replied. ‘i just like it, y’know? the idea of it, anyway.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>he nudged al. ‘you are a wild child.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘i’m into the wild, y’know? the museum gets too stuffy. nobody’s happy there. and then i see all those paintings ‘n shit of the woods ‘n it looks so freeing.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>napoleon motioned to the grass lawn around them. ‘we are outside right now. and it is a beautiful night, might i add.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘but it ain’t like the woods! everything’s too calm and mild out here. like, there’s no animal noises, y’know?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>al absently snaked an arm underneath napoleon’s shirt, which was delightfully welcomed. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘how can you not enjoy the calmness? it is so lovely.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘eh. structured livin’ ain’t for me. i gotta <em>get </em>out there, gotta <em>be </em>somewhere, be someone…’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘you are limited to twelve hours of nighttime to do it and a curfew that could result in death if you do not meet it. makes things a bit difficult, no?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘yer bein’ a real optimist, aren’tcha?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘i -’ napoleon suddenly jerked, surprising al and, evidently, surprising himself. a strong hand had been innocently ghosting over his nipples before roughly cupping half of his chest. ‘did you just squeeze my - my <em>chest</em>?’ he squeaked.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘if ya mean yer man boob, then yes.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘you are so rude! i do not have - agh, do not make fun of -’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘calm down, it’s just what we call it. all guys have man boobs. it’s not a weight thing, if that’s what yer mad about.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>after being repeatedly reassured nearly a dozen times that al was not calling him fat, napoleon submitted and skeptically allowed al to resume fondling his chest. ‘anyway,’ he tentatively went on, ‘i apologize for my pessimism. from earlier. talking about our curfew, i mean.’ </p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘no, no. yer fine,’ al said. ‘i’ve always been like this - y’know that. always unhappy with what i have. more, more, more - right? ain’t that what it’s all about? sheesh, my parents got the short end of the stick when they had me, didn’t they. i was never satisfied. never. for the longest time i swore that i wouldn’t walk down that aisle.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘aisle?’ napoleon asked.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘marriage.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘ah, i understand.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘and, hey, college was the next best thing that a parent could ask for, but could ya imagine my dumbass in college? they were dreamers, i tell ya.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘in-denial, more like,’ he retorted. ‘but they are gone now, and here we are.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘here we are,’ al echoed. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>he disliked al’s sudden forlorn tone and wistful gaze; he attempted to add a few words of encouragement into the mix. ‘it is alright, in spite of everything. if you really think about it. i mean, we are immortal, al. twelve hours a day, seven days a week. men would kill for this.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘there’s the optimist i know,’ he said, grinning. ‘but i don’t agree with ya.’ </p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘and there is the pessimist i know.’ he tucked a strand of hair behind al’s ear. ‘but i do not mind because you are handsome.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘again, i gotta disagree with you there, frenchie. they ain’t exactly votin’ me the queen of homecomin’.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘oh, do not make me laugh. the idea! you, a homecoming queen! you would hate that,’ said napoleon. ‘no, i imagine you being a handsome athlete as a schoolboy.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘i mean, that ain’t entirely wrong. god, i used to think i was such a bad boy. sometimes i’d get so pushed over the edge that i’d pack my things and run away. never even got past the front door.’ he chuckled dryly. ‘it was so dumb. my family needed me, anyway. i couldn’t leave ‘em.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>napoleon listened quietly. al hardly ever spoke of his childhood in such a serious way. he was usually all jokes and fun, never wanting to grapple with the actual seriousness of his past circumstances; napoleon didn’t blame him for it. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘despite the awful situation you found yourself in, it is charming, no? you were like a little… a little <em>punk</em>,’ he said, struggling with such an odd word. ‘that is the correct term, yes?’ </p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘i guess. i still kinda am one - a punk, i mean.’ he considered this. ‘not the leather jacket kind. i ain’t into rock music.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘so you never did leave your mother and father?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘nope. i came so close when i was ‘bout - ‘bout seventeen. yeah, no. hopped on a train outta there, but i jumped back off ‘n ran home. man, i tore up my pants so badly, they were pissed.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘but that is the american dream, is it not? to come from nothing and become something? that is what you ended up doing, no?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>al rolled his eyes. ‘y’know what i think? fuck the american dream. it’s a bunch of horseshit.’ he chewed on the inside of his cheek. ‘yeah, i don’t care for it.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>they sat in silence until napoleon delivered a startling question.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘what was your father like?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>a pause. ‘let’s just say he was one of those men whose mere footsteps made yer knees buckle.’ he inhaled deeply. ‘i mean, y’know what i’m talking ‘bout more than anyone i know. i just wish i had a mom like yours when i was growing up. what did you say that one time? that she’d dress ya up in dresses and call ya her little girl?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘when i was a child!’ he said indignantly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘nah, i think it’s cute. really,’ he reassured. ‘i’m hungry. we should go inside ‘n see if that new night guard brought over any snacks.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>napoleon allowed him to change the subject; it hadn’t been going in any pleasant sort of direction and anyway, he could hear al’s stomach grumbling. that was as sure of a sign as any. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘should we roll the hammock up and bring it back inside, then?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘no, we’re comin’ back. i just want somethin’ to eat.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>after wiggling out of the hammock and miraculously <em>not </em>flipping themselves face-first onto the ground - as is so typical of hammocks when a person tries to get off of one - al and napoleon walked hand-in-hand across the lawn towards the museum. the artificial light emitting from its windows and outdoor lighting looked quite magnificent in the darkness of the night, where glowing dots and tiny gleams of other buildings could be seen in the distance. the museum shone like a moon in a black sea of fragmented stars.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘y’know, as nice as the woods is, i think i like the good ol’ concrete jungle more.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘concrete… <em>jungle</em>?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘the city,’ al explained. ‘it’s what we call the city sometimes.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘ah. very… uh, cute.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>‘cute?’</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘yes, <em>cute</em> - right? is that the word?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘how’s it cute?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘i do not know - the names you americans come up for things is endearing at times. i would never think to call a city a concrete jungle.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>al rolled his eyes but pulled napoleon closer all the same, wrapping a protective arm around him. ‘i feel like we’re drunkenly ramblin’ at this point.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘we are not drunk.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘we’re tired, though. like, really tired.’ he rubbed his eyes, tentatively adding, ‘and cockblocked.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘i did not cockblock you! you cockblocked me!’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>this sudden surge of excitement in their conversation invigorated al. ‘i was the one kissin’ ya, all romantic ‘n shit, ‘n what’d ya do? laughed ‘n pushed me away!’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘i thought you liked a challenge!’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘i do, but i <em>don’t </em>like straight-up forcin’ people to do things when it seems like they ain’t interested!’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘i <em>was </em>interested. i was about to do more but then you started going on about the woods and your childhood.’ his eyes widened and he put up his hands in panic, as if calming down a big animal. ‘not that i don’t like hearing about it! i love to listen when you talk about -’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘oh, save it,’ he dismissed, his voice softening affectionately. ‘how was i supposed to know, anyway?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>napoleon mumbled an incoherent retort. al only grinned, knowing he’d won the argument and napoleon was feeling particularly displeased about it. rubbing it in his face - quite literally - he gave napoleon’s cheek a peck. he loved seeing the little man so ruffled and disgruntled, like a proudly plumaged bird shaking its feathers after a downpour. he wasn’t exactly sure why that sort of thing came to mind, but it eclectically managed to.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>they walked past the museum’s doors and were greeted by a blinding set of lights. a large amount of time in darkness does that to a man. blinking away the colorful spots coating their vision, they made their way down the winding hallways and cascading staircases. the night guard was nowhere to be found but al spotted a few unopened snacks laying around and, much to napoleon’s staunch disapproval, snatched them up. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>on their way back outside, al spoke up. ‘it still hangs over my head, y’know. mom ‘n dad,’ he mentioned. ‘it just doesn’t go away.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘you are, uh, paranoid?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘wouldn’t surprise me. feels like they’re gonna show up out of the blue and criticize me and my life. it’s weird.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘it is strange to say this, but your parents are long gone, al. you will never see them again, so you should not worry about such things anymore, yes?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘yeah…’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘you must have fond memories of them,’ napoleon went on. ‘they cannot be <em>all </em>that bad.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘i dunno. when i was little, i asked ‘em for money a lot, somethin’ we didn’t have a lot of. that kinda set the record, if y’know what i mean…’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>napoleon smiled despite the unfortunate gravity of the conversation. ‘ah, but - how do you say? - that shit is over now, yes? i promise it is over.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘ya needa stop hangin’ ‘round me,’ he said, laughing at the awkwardness of english swears on napoleon’s tongue; his corsican accent made <em>shit </em>sound more like <em>sheet</em>. ‘yer bein’ corrupted.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘by your pottymouth? i do not even know what half of these curses mean.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘yer like a child, sayin’ things without even knowin’ what they mean.’ </p>
<p> </p>
<p>napoleon laughed. ‘well, the fog has cleared, no? the worst of it is over. you do not have your parents. you have your friends now. and, mostly importantly, me.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>al looked into his eyes for a moment and smiled. ‘yeah, guess this is my home now, huh?’ he smiled. ‘ain’t too shabby.’</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>kudos &amp; comments are very appreciated</p></blockquote></div></div>
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